


scacchic

by sutera



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dark, Dom/sub Undertones, Execution, M/M, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Royalty, basically my own interpretation of ffversusxiii with ignoct, because i love dark ignoct fml, mafia, somehow lkajsf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-10 11:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sutera/pseuds/sutera
Summary: Ignis would always have Noctis' back, even if he fell into darkness.





	1. execution

**Author's Note:**

> so. this will be dark. dark themes. all that stuff. darkfic blah lkjasf.  
soRRY I SHOULD REALLY be doing/updating other things than what i'm doing right now but im just stress writing at the moment and. usually i stress smut but well. ljaksjf
> 
> anYWAY please enjoy and unravel the story through the one shots i will be posting huehue

The coronation is nothing but a formality.

Noct has already taken over his father, both in name and power, long before the late King passed away. If anything, Ignis muses, it is tardy that they have finally prepared something to celebrate such an event. But then, he supposes it’s his own fault. He should have perhaps nudged the organization, forced them to be faster, but Noct has such a penchant for _more_ than courtly gestures and traditional frivolities.

Still, one cannot ignore the masses’ demand for public appearance. If Ignis were a fool, he would have thought it simply to show adoration for their King, their current leader. But he is no fool. Nor is Noct.

Ignis supposes, then, that is what the man kneeling before the throne is for.

Ignis stands to the right of his King, the Hand and the one and only trusted advisor. Gladio stands to his left, the Shield of the King, scarred features watching the procession impassively. Prompto stands amongst the crowd, the infiltrator, a far cry from the untrained boy that had been brought under their wings.

Noct stands tall. The kingly raiment outlines his figure grandly, the dark material only just brushing the marble flooring, and it barely creases as he stands. The Sword of the Father is drawn, sleek and beautiful and sharp. It is merely a ceremonial tool, though Ignis knows its uses can be far deadlier.

Like now, for instance, when the crowd stands still and silent below them. When Noct smiles, a cold cruelty curving his lips. When he raises keen metal, and the man kneeling before him gasps out a sob.

The sword swings down and across. The man jolts. The head falls to the ground first. It rolls down, down the stairs and before the first few pairs of shoes that toe the stairs. The body follows gracelessly, thumping halfway down the ridges before coming to a stop.

“Lovely,” Ignis murmurs, sighing softly. “Perhaps we should have removed the carpet first.”

Noct snorts. He reaches back and grasps the material of his cloak. He deftly cleans the blood off his blade and sheathes it. He turns and sits back on his throne, one leg crossing over the other, chin resting bored ‘pon his palm.

Ignis lets his gaze slide to Gladio’s frozen face, then allows himself to seek the head of blond among the crowd. Prompto is at the front of them all, staring down at the man who has just been executed. He likely bears the same thoughts as the Shield, the same as the crowd behind him, but what can they do? How can they possibly resist the allure Noct exudes? The _command_ he expects and _takes_?

“Long live the King!” Ignis calls, stepping forward. He smiles. His voice echoes back at him long before the words finally do, and the uproar comes only when soft music plays. Everyone will be scared now. Let the man’s death be a lesson to them all. Let them fear King Noctis and let them serve until their dying breathes.

Ignis’s smile broadens. His heart beats excitedly in his chest. Let none of them serve Noctis more than he shall himself.

“Long live the King! Long live the King!”

The crowd chants, arrested by the blood glistening on the smooth marble, arrested by the eyes staring blankly forward. Arrested, ultimately, by the magic dancing at the tips of Noct’s fingers, the power and strength in his retinue combined.

No one would dare go against them.

Ignis chuckles and turns to His Majesty, going on one knee in the splattered blood. His head bows low, arm crossed against his chest, and he would kiss the tip of Noct’s boot if His Majesty so allowed it.

“Long live the King.”


	2. unkempt

Noct isn’t ready for the formal negotiations with Niflheim just yet, though Ignis supposes he hadn’t entirely expected him to be. Certainly, the man is tardy when he wishes to be. Ignis believes it’s impressing upon the power balance, that Noct is far busier to deal with idle things such as dealing with another nation.

Yet, the way Noct curls tighter underneath his blankets, the way he seeks the absence of warmth in his bed, makes Ignis think otherwise. Perhaps he truly is lazy. Perhaps he sees no point in dealing with the Emperor and his retinue just yet.

“Iggy?” Drowsy blue eyes peek between the covers. Noct isn’t making a move to leave the bed, and Ignis already knows what’s coming next. “Come here.”

Ignis exhales, a small protest dying on his tongue, but he doesn’t wish to disobey. If anything, the sight makes his heart swell, and he neatly pushes aside stray blankets to clear a space for himself. He sits by the mound of cloth that is Noct and feels the slither of his arm around his own waist to tug Ignis down.

“Your Majesty,” Ignis starts, a smile twitching ‘pon his lips. “I believe there are negotiations to be had.” He kicks off his boots anyway and lays down. Noct easily envelopes him in blankets, blinking owlishly.

“Are there?” he asks. He shifts up against Ignis’ side. “They can wait.”

As Ignis thought. He supposes Noct will move only if he wishes to now. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“I’m dressed anyway.”

Ah. The blanket is stifling. He’s facing Noct and Noct’s burying his face in his chest, seeking his hand. He slips a hand down the other’s back, feeling the raiment, and can’t help but laugh.

“Noct.” His tone is only somewhat admonishing, but he doesn’t push.

“Iggy,” Noct says softly, “can’t we just kill them?”

The laughter dies. Something seizes in Ignis’s chest, but something pushes it down again. He turns his head to kiss atop Noct’s, huffing softly. “The political backlash would be difficult to deal with.”

“Are you saying you can’t deal with it?” Noct asks suddenly. He shifts to a sitting position, shrugging off the blanket. He looks positively unkempt, his hair in disarray, his clothes wrinkled and askew. It doesn’t detract from his authority, however. Ignis knows that first-hand.

He sits up as well to face his King. Bows his head in submission.

“Of course not, Your Majesty. It will be done, if you command it.”

Noct seems to contemplate it a moment. His hand is still on Ignis’ waist, thumb stroking absently at whatever patch of warmth he can feel. “I want to see their faces when it happens.”

Ignis inclines his head, mind already running with many plans to deal with the fallout. “Did you wish to assist with the takeover?”

“No,” Noct says, yawning and getting out of bed finally. He stretches, and Ignis watches the long line of his back. “I’ll get Gladio to raze it.”

Ignis’ lips thin. Something shrivels within him, something alien, but it’s swept away within a second. “He will protest.”

Noct levels his gaze with him, straightening his garments. “Then I’ll convince him.”

Ignis gets off the bed and bows deeply. He remains for a moment, before murmuring, “it will be done, then.”

He stays like that until Noct dismisses him. He sees his feet approach, feels the brush of the back of his palm against his nape, and hears him exhale.

“Thanks, Iggy.” A pause. Ignis doesn’t dare breathe until the next words come. “Get on your knees.”

Ignis’ breath escapes him sharply, but he does as he’s told. Gracefully, one leg folds after the other before he’s on the floor, head still bowed submissively. Quiet arousal _throbs_ in his gut, his breaths coming a tad faster, but he doesn’t dare move. He doesn’t dare give any sign he desires more than just _this_.

Anything Noct does will be enough for him. It always will be.

“Good,” Noct says, and Ignis hears the smile in his tone. Pleased. He’s _pleased_. Ignis shivers and bows his head further when fingers curl amongst the strands of his hair. They tug, so very lightly, and Ignis is helpless to resist the pull as his face presses against the cloth covering the length of His Majesty. “You’ve been very good to me, Iggy.”

Ignis is shoved further against Noct’s growing arousal and, eagerly, he opens his mouth to lick at the material. He can barely feel the hardness through the wet muscle, but he knows it's there, he knows he’s putting _some_ pressure given the hitch in Noct’s breath.

He continues, shuffling forward on his knees, and his hands clench and unclench at his sides. He wants to touch Noct. He wants to serve him as he deserves to be served. He wishes to lavish him with praise. He can only hope Noct will _allow_ him to, but at the very least he’s letting Ignis tongue here, kiss over his clothed cock, letting him imagine him taking that heavy, heated flesh down his throat—

“That’s enough.”

Noct’s voice cuts sharply through Ignis’ haze and he closes his mouth with a snap and remains pressed against Noct’s crotch. His King is rutting against his face slightly, his panting harsh, and Ignis feels a swell of adoration in his chest.

“You’ll get your reward when you deal with them. Now stand.”

Ignis stands slowly. His cheeks are flush. He’s panting in his eagerness, and Noct smiles when he sees his face. His hand is still curled in Ignis’ hair, and he tugs hard at it to drag Ignis into a kiss.

Ignis moans into it, not daring to go too far, and Noct takes control easily. He explores Ignis’ mouth with heady slowness, makes Ignis lean forward into it with a stuttered noise, and when they finally separate, he licks his lips and smiles up at Ignis.

“Good. Let’s go, shall we?”

Noct straightens his shirt and dusts over his crotch area with barely any care to conceal his arousal. Ignis’ breath hitches. He’d thought before that being late had been the power move but, no, instead it will be _this._ Ignis’ red cheeks and saliva clear on his chin. His hair dishevelled, much like Noct’s own, and he can only imagine the impression the Niflheim delegation will have.

Noct saunters out and Ignis follows like a well-trained dog.

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos and/or comment if u liked! Thanks for reading!!


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